Winter's tale

I was born and brought up in the south. I like the climate: we don't get bitterly cold and it's warm in the summer, so you can safely go out and sunbathe. I can count the number of winters with real snow on the fingers of one hand. Almost all of them were in my childhood, when I had never really enjoyed winter fun. I vaguely remember being taken to kindergarten in the early morning: it was still dark outside, the snow was falling so that I could see nothing further than five meters away, the streetlight was throwing up myriads of snowflakes from the impenetrable haze. And I am concentrating on shifting my legs properly and not falling. My clothes hinder my movements, and a scarf is draped over my face, so that only my eyes are open. This is how I remember the real winter. This is how I reflected it in my painting. Mysterious. Fabulous. Extraordinary. I think the thick forest adds the necessary ambience.